


Is This Your Card?

by megzseattle



Series: The Serpent and the Seagull Outtakes [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst and Humor, Arguments, Established Relationship, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, card tricks, good omens - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:41:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21866695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megzseattle/pseuds/megzseattle
Summary: Aziraphale picks up a new hobby and Crowley is not on board.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: The Serpent and the Seagull Outtakes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1575532
Comments: 17
Kudos: 62





	Is This Your Card?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Big_Edies_Sun_Hat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Big_Edies_Sun_Hat/gifts).



> This was my submission for a story gift exchange this Christmas! My recipient want magic tricks and an argument, which I was only too happy to comply with. 
> 
> This story falls vaguely within the first year in which Aziraphale and Crowley are dating in my existing story universe for Serpent and the Seagull fans... but it can stand alone too! Enjoy!

It all started when Aziraphale convinced him to go to an outdoor market that featured old books. Among the select handful of legitimate treasures he found was one ridiculous book from the 1940s called “A Boy’s Guide to Card Tricks.”

“Expanding your young adult selections, angel?” Crowley asked. “I’d have assumed you wanted to do everything you could to keep teenage boys away from your shop.”

Aziraphale smiled excitedly. “Oh no,” he said. “It’s not for sale! It’s for me! I’ve always wanted to learn card tricks!”

It was bad enough, Crowley thought, when Aziraphale wanted to pull rabbits out of hats and do stupid tricks with hoops and handkerchiefs. But now, suddenly, he had decided to master card tricks. It was almost more than a demon could bear. 

“Oh no,” Crowley groaned. “No, no, no. I do not support this.”

“Whyever not?” Aziraphale asked.

“Because you’re going to want to practice on me all the time,” he said, “and it’s going to be annoying.” 

Aziraphale humphed. “Now really,” he said. “I’m sure I can spare you all of that. I have plenty of people to practice on.” 

—

  


He did not. 

The angel made it all of a week before he showed up next to Crowley on the couch with an expectant and hopeful look on his face that the demon just knew meant trouble. 

“Something you need, angel?” Crowley asked dryly. 

“I was just wondering if I could –” the angel paused and tried to think strategically. “If you could, perhaps, help me out with – well, I just wanted –”

“Oh for pete’s sake,” Crowley interjected. “You want to do some stupid magic trick for me, right?”

Aziraphale gave him that wide-eyed look that he just couldn’t deflect. Crowley groaned, fought for a moment, and gave in. 

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Go ahead.” 

Aziraphale blushed happily and pulled out a deck of cards from his coat pocket and shuffled them dramatically, dropping one on the floor that he quickly picked back up. Crowley tried not to roll his eyes. 

The angel fanned the deck out in front of him with unnecessary flair. “Pick a card, any card,” he said, with a ridiculous grin on his face. 

Crowley took a deep breath and tried to be a good sport. He picked one from the middle, read it, and tucked it back in. Seven of hearts. 

Just for extra good measure, though, he turned it into the nine of clubs when he replaced it. No point in letting the angel get too successful at this. Maybe if he never got any good at it, he’d give it up. 

Several dramatic flourishes later, Aziraphale pulled out the nine of clubs. “Is this your card?” he asked. 

Crowley pouted sympathetically. “No, actually,” he said. “I didn’t get that one.”

Aziraphale frowned. “But – “ he said. “This has to be your card!” 

Crowley shook his head. “Try again!” he said. 

The angel reshuffled and pulled a few others. None of them were the seven of hearts. He gave up and offered up a wan smile. 

“Well, clearly I still have a few wrinkles to work out of it!” he said, bravely. “Thank you for the practice!” 

Crowley took a moment to silently return the seven of hearts to its original condition. Wouldn’t do to have the angel find two identical cards in his deck later. 

—

  


After that, Aziraphale took to practicing on his customers as much as he could. Someone would come up to purchase a book and he would insist that they had to submit to a card trick as part of being allowed to take home one of his treasures. A few people declined and were summarily dismissed from the bookshop all together, while the ones that allowed it were subject to one of the three tricks the angel was trying to master. 

Crowley observed over the course of the week, interfering occasionally, but mostly letting the angel go his own way. He appeared to be getting a little more competent at this. Time to take it down a notch, he thought. 

On Friday, after they turned the Open sign to Closed and popped the cork off a nice bottle of Chablis, Crowley sat down in an expansive move and gestured Aziraphale over. 

“So,” he said, “show me what you’ve been up to.”

Aziraphale looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“The card tricks,” he said, “obviously. Looks like you’re getting the hang of it.” 

“Oh!” Aziraphale said. “Well if you’re certain…” 

He scurried over to the desk, pulled out his deck, and came back over. “Let’s try this one again,” he said first, fanning out the cards. “I’ve been practicing!” He held them out expectantly to Crowley. 

“Don’t you have to, you know –” Crowley waved a hand. “Say your thing? I really don’t think you should be cutting corners…”

Aziraphale smirked. “Oh. Well then – pick a card, my dear, any card.”

Crowley picked one out and discreetly looked at it. Queen of diamonds. He tucked it back in and changed it just ever so slightly to the king.

Aziraphale looked much more confident this time. He shuffled and swooped and piled and cut – and then pulled out the King of diamonds. 

“Is this your card?” he asked. 

“Oh, angel –” Crowley said with a sympathetic smile. “It isn’t, but you’re really close! It was the Queen, not the King.” 

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. “How is that possible? I’ve been getting it right with everyone else all week!” He looked at Crowley. “Are you lying?” 

“No!” Crowley insisted. “I’m not! I pulled the Queen of Diamonds!” 

Aziraphale shrugged it off. “Maybe that’s just not my trick – I’ve been working on this one called the Whispering Queen.” 

“All in good time, angel,” the demon said. “Practice first.” 

—

  


Crowley had to admit he felt a little guilty about messing with Aziraphale this way. His angel was so sensitive sometimes. He tried to make up for it by being extra attentive in all other ways, lavishing time and affection on Aziraphale at every turn and being an especially attentive boyfriend. Aziraphale, as always, preened under the attention and practically glowed with happiness. And a happy angel, as far as Crowley was concerned, made for a happy home. 

What Crowley failed to realize, however, was that the angel was frequently much more clever than he gave him credit for. 

Aziraphale picked a new trick to work on that week with his customers. Crowley tried to ignore it; he really had lost interest in this whole routine, although it seemed that the angel showed no signs of letting his new hobby go. Still, nonetheless, he tried to appear cooperative late in the week when the angel asked if he could try it out on him. 

“I think this one will work,” he said with a smile. “It’s rather foolproof and I haven’t flubbed it once this week.” 

Crowley smiled as Aziraphale pulled out the Queen of Hearts and laid it aside, face down, then cut the deck in a complicated way. He next showed him the top card on one portion of the pile – the three of clubs. He buried it back into the deck, grinned at Crowley and said, “Let’s just ask the Queen what your card was, shall we?”

He picked up the queen, held it to his ear with a curious look on his face, and smiled. 

“She says it’s a black card –”

“50-50 chance of being right, there, angel, but yes, it was,” Crowley allowed.

“And a club –” 

“Still not great odds, love, but yes.”

“And –” he listened to the card again “a three.”

“Oh! So close, angel,” the demon said. “It’s a four.” A small snap under the table made it true. 

Aziraphale’s expression suddenly morphed from his pleasant “performance smile” into a deeply suspicious look. 

“Crowley,” he said slowly. “Put both of your hands on the table where I can see them, please.”

Crowley frowned but did as he was told, trying to figure out what was happening. 

“No snapping your fingers,” Aziraphale said, clutching the deck tightly in his hands. “In fact, do not move an inch.” 

He narrowed a stern look on Crowley that nearly had the demon leaning back from the table. The angel held the deck up where he could keep an eye on both Crowley and the deck at once.

“Here’s something you might not have realized, my dear,” he said mildly. “On that trick, I’ve actually gotten a look at your card before you see it. And I know it wasn’t a four.” 

Crowley kept his face mild, but he was itching to perform a small miracle to get himself out of this. He had to get that three back into the deck, and pronto, and he absolutely couldn’t with the angel watching him like a hawk. “You must have looked at the wrong one, then!” 

Aziraphale continued to watch him while sorting through the deck. He laid out all the clubs on the table. “One, two – oh this is strange – four, four, five, six, seven…” He leaned forward and looked Crowley in the eye. “I wonder how my deck came to have TWO four of clubs in it and not a single three of clubs. It’s quite odd that I could never have noticed that before, don’t you think?”

Crowley swallowed. 

“In fact, I’m quite certain that I saw the three of clubs just the other day,” Aziraphale continued. He picked up the two offending cards, looking them over front and back. Then he picked up one and blew on it, brushing away Crowley’s illusion and revealing the three of clubs beneath it. 

“Angel, I can –” Crowley began. 

The angel raised his eyes and fixed Crowley with a ferocious glare. 

“Have you,” he said slowly, “been changing the cards every time I try a trick on you?”

“Well – actually – you see –” Crowley sputtered. His brain seemed to have stuttered to a stop and the brilliant explanation he was trying to come up with failed to materialize. “Possibly,” he muttered. 

Aziraphale gaped at him for a moment, unable to find the words. Perhaps, Crowley thought, that meant the yelling would not materialize. He took a moment to fervently hope so before Aziraphale took a deep breath and raised a finger to shake at him. 

So much for that hope, he thought sadly. 

“You—” Aziraphale shouted, “you are SO INFURIATING!” 

Crowley shrugged reflexively. He’d heard worse. “It was just a joke…” he offered lamely. 

Aziraphale sputtered. “You’ve been tricking me and fibbing to me about it for three weeks!” he said. “Making me think I wasn’t any good at this! Why would you do that?”

“Because –” Crowley said, not at all sure what was about to come out of his mouth. His brain, left to its own devices, defaulted to mildly offensive. “You don’t need magic tricks to tell me what card I picked out of the deck. You can just – close your eyes and KNOW it. Snap your fingers! Why do you want to debase yourself to doing it the dumb, human way?”

This was apparently quite the wrong thing to say. He watched as Aziraphale’s complexion turned from its usual cream to a bright shade of red and wondered for a moment if literal steam was about to come out of his ears. It would be just like a cartoon, Crowley thought. 

“Because the dumb human way is FUN, you ridiculous demon!” Aziraphale yelled. Then he visibly reigned himself in a little bit. He scrubbed a hand over his face and lowered his volume a bit. “Plus, you have to admit, that’s a bit mean-spirited as tricks go, Crowley.” 

“Mean?” Crowley protested. “’M not being mean, angel… just…” He broke off, unable to think of an end to that sentence. 

“Mean, Crowley,” the angel said firmly. “It was mean. I was enjoying myself and you were doing your best to make me doubt myself and give it up.” 

Crowley squirmed in his seat. He was beginning to suspect that perhaps the angel was in the right here and he was in the wrong. It was not a sensation he liked. 

“Do you have nothing to say to me here?” the angel demanded, sounding exasperated. 

“I’m sorry?” Crowley offered. 

Aziraphale huffed and stalked off to his desk, where he busied himself with his ledgers. 

—

  


Crowley sat and thought. Was the angel right that this went a bit beyond basic mischief? He certainly didn’t intend to cause him any harm or hurt feelings, he just wanted to make the angel stop this ridiculous hobby before it personally inconvenienced him! Was that so wrong?

He felt an odd prickle of something along the lines of shame that made him think that perhaps it actually _was_. 

He tried to put himself in Aziraphale’s shoes. What if the angel tried his best to get him to stop doing things he enjoyed? Well to be fair, it’s not like that had never happened before. The angel certainly had done his best at various points to prevent him from doing demonic miracles to trip joggers in the park. He _enjoyed_ tripping joggers. The angel had definitely tried to get him to stop stealing and replacing the priceless works of art he admired and wanted for his own collection. That was enjoyable. And he’d certainly tried to get him to stop inciting riots around the globe at various points. Riots could be fun. 

He sighed. Even he knew these rationales were ridiculous. The difference, he thought, was that all of these things were actively causing harm to others. Aziraphale wasn’t harming anyone with his stupid little card tricks. 

He was just being happy. Being himself. 

And Crowley had tried to quell that. 

Oh crap, Crowley thought, I’m the jerk here.

He looked over at Aziraphale’s back, bent over his desk, and wallowed in a sincere moment of remorse. Then he pulled out his phone and did a little investigating. 

—

  


“Angel?” Crowley said hesitantly a few minutes later. 

“Mmm?” the angel replied, frosty and disinterested. Crowley wasn’t fooled. 

“I was thinking…” Crowley cleared his throat. “You were right. About, you know…”

Aziraphale put down his pen with a flourish and turned his chair to face where Crowley sat on the couch. “About what, then?” 

Not going to make this easy, Crowley thought. Not that he expected any different. 

“You weren’t causing anyone any harm,” Crowley said, swallowing the urge to just drop into snake form and be done with this whole conversation. “You were just making yourself happy, and I stomped all over that. It was mean. I’m sorry…” 

Aziraphale softened. “You really hate magic tricks, don’t you?”

Crowley shrugged. “So what? It’s not like you love everything I like to do.” 

“Most things,” Aziraphale said. “But I suppose you’re right.” 

“I won’t interfere in your hobbies anymore, angel,” Crowley said. “Okay?” 

_Forgive me?_ He did not say. But it dangled there between them, in full view of them both. 

“All right,” Aziraphale said, seeming satisfied. “Thank you, dear.” 

_I forgive you,_ he did not say. But they both heard it. 

“Also,” Crowley said, unsure. “I saw on my phone that there’s, uh, a stage magician coming to London in a couple weeks.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, unsure where this was going.

Crowley took a deep breath. “Got us front row seats. So, uh, you can see everything he does. Maybe get some tips.” 

Aziraphale broke into a smile so sunny it could illuminate the whole shop. “Oh, my dear! What a lovely idea!” He gasped. “Maybe he’ll need volunteers from the audience! And we will be right there.”

“I am not going up on stage, even for you, angel,” Crowley warned. “If you want to volunteer, you go right ahead, but that is for you alone.” 

Aziraphale smirked. He thought it might be fair payback to somehow arrange for Crowley to be sawed in half in a magician’s box. He tucked that thought away to examine in private later; he planned to enjoy deciding just how petty he wanted to be about this.


End file.
